


Don't Have No Bark Or Bite

by Pluppelina



Series: It Must Be Love [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Exhibitionism, F/M, Humiliation, Pegging, extreme pain play, genderbent character, masochist!Sebastian, not actually rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next time, it'll be you I fuck, the boss had said.</p>
<p>A sequel to When You Call My Name, I Salivate Like A Pavlov Dog</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Have No Bark Or Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thunar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunar/gifts).



> Happy very belated birthday! Hope it lives up to your expectations of me ~

The boss makes him wait. Of course she makes him wait; there’s little that thrills her more than knowing she can keep someone wrapped around her little finger on nothing but promises, knowing that her words can sink their hooks as deep into someone’s soft underbelly as any real steel would. Sebastian is sure that Jamie would enjoy it even more if she realised that her steel words could harm just as much as any gun, too. He isn’t equally sure that he’d enjoy the outcome himself. So instead of giving her ideas, he waits. 

He waits, but he’s not idle, for all that. There’s work to be done, just as always in The Firm; there are men to be killed, schematics to be stolen, police officers to be bribed. That’s all normal. What isn’t normal is that, suddenly, there’s also a woman to please. 

Perhaps it is because the boss realised that Sebastian didn’t want her for entirely self-serving reasons, or perhaps it was going to happen all along. Either way, there’s no given explanation as to why Sebastian suddenly finds himself in the position of Jamie’s live-in sex toy. Whenever she’s bored with work, there he is, rapidly placed underneath her desk and told to lick and suck. Whenever she craves a cock inside her, there he is, laid down on her bed and ridden like a pony. It’s almost all he’s ever wanted of her, the casual way in which she uses him, and that makes Sebastian long for the ways in which she isn’t using him even more. All part of a plot to drive him out of his mind, probably.

Even she has to give in eventually, though. If she waits too long to make good on her threats, they lose their effect, and that isn’t something either of them wants. Apparently, Jamie thinks that eight weeks is the tipping point, because a couple of months after she’d made Sebastian her promise, he finds himself seated at her side in a conference. The people there aren’t strictly employees of hers, but they’re all men and women who have, at one time or another, needed a favour from her. They’re all people who owe her. She hasn’t told him what they’re all doing sitting around the same table, if she’s decided it’s time to collect or if something else is at stake here, and he hasn’t cared to ask.

He’s been too busy worrying about his own hide to pay much attention to her convoluted plots at all these days - most of which go clear over his head anyway. Honestly, he doesn’t even pay attention to what she’s saying to them once they’re all gathered together. It’s only as he sees the black hat carried inside that all is made obvious, and all at once very relevant. Oh, he wishes that he’d listened now, all right. There’s no mistaking what’s going to happen next, as the hat comes to rest on the table in between them, and Jamie reaches into it.

A thrill goes down Sebastian’s spine, and she hasn’t even gotten a hold of a piece of paper yet when he starts to feel aroused. If there was ever truly a time when he was a wild animal on a leash, that’s long passed. He feels domesticated as she takes a little note out of the lottery, feels like a dog with its tail curled up between its legs. Anxious to know what’s what, he glances over to see what name she’s picked out, only to see that the ticket is blank. Blank. Something must be wrong. 

He holds his breath for the moment that it takes the chips to fall. Maybe this means something else; maybe this isn’t what he thought it would be. Maybe she hasn’t - maybe she won't -

“Sebastian Moran.” 

Their eyes meet; hers with a smile in them, his with doubt. Is this really going to happen? Is this really what he wants? A pang of arousal lets him know that, yes. Yes. God, yes. He’s the first to look away, filled with shame. 

Normally, the man chosen has to be dragged up towards the boss, fighting all the way. No one comes to grab Sebastian. Perhaps Jamie knows that he’ll come of his own free will and that’s why, or perhaps it’s meant to let the others in the room know right from the start that this isn’t the usual procedure they’re going to see tonight. That this is something else, entirely. This is consensual, and everyone will know that. It takes Sebastian a moment to gather himself after that realisation, but soon enough, he’s getting up. He barely has to take a step to bend over the table, bracing himself on his elbows. Behind him, Jamie’s already got her strap on fit tightly around her hips. Sebastian can feel his heart beat echo through his head, like a drum. His trousers are beginning to feel painfully tight. 

It’s a problem that’s taken care of sooner rather than later. Her hands come up around him, the intimate touches that he’s used to by now, and soon, he’s been stripped, jeans and pants trapping his legs just below the knee. He wouldn’t be able to run, now, not if he wanted to make it more than two steps. On the other hand, his painfully humiliating erection is hidden from view by the table he’s bent over and the angle of his chest. Perhaps, if he wasn’t so put out of his mind by the surreality of the whole situation, he would’ve been thankful for that. If he looked up, he knows he’d be forced to look someone in the eye. 

As is, he can focus on very little except for Jamie. She’s still wearing clothes, this time, her designer suit. It’s going to become bloody, he knows, and it’s going to be strange to not feel her skin on his. Perhaps that’s why, though; perhaps she doesn’t want to touch him. The idea makes his heart beat, if possible, even faster, and he clenches his jaw tight. The action makes him realise just how tense he is and he forces himself to relax, forces himself to take deep breaths and to try and make his body as open as possible. The head of her dildo brushes against his hole and he closes his eyes, focusing, knowing what is to come. 

Or at least, he thought he did. The pain is worse than he’d imagined it would be, as though it’s a sword she’s sticking into him, and not a blunt object. It’s too big to go in without a fight, and Sebastian can’t help it when his body fights back, trying to clench up tightly enough to make entry impossible. Of course, there’s no such thing to be done, and it only results in more pain. For a moment, he thinks that he might black out. His ass is on fire, and it’s her doing, and he hasn’t been harder in his life. What ought to come out a scream becomes a moan, a string of them, and his toes curling in his heavy boots.

He doesn’t feel the blood until she pulls out, and takes some of it with her, making it run down his thighs, presumably to soak up into both their trousers and Sebastian’s pants. Perhaps it does some little good as lubricant, to ease things up, because it seems to Sebastian that the more she moves, the less acute the pain is, and the more of a general throb it becomes, spreading out into his entire body until he can’t tell where it’s coming from any more. It’s as though he’s one big, sore thumb, blood pressure peaking, something building inside of his gut. 

The state of mind she’s put him in makes time impossible to tell, makes it so that he can only measure the moments that pass by how they make him feel, how they make this terrible, fantastic _something_ grow inside of him. It feels to Sebastian as though she fucks him harder and harder, but that’s probably just the pain, the nerves scraped raw screaming louder and louder for his body to get up, to get going, to _do_ something. To release so much adrenalin and endorphin and serotonin throughout him that he can’t tell, in the end, whether he’s about to die, or to come. Maybe that’s why the French call it the little death, he thinks, hand going to his cock unthinkingly. Maybe they always do it like this. 

It isn’t until after he’s gotten himself off that he realises what it truly is he’s just done. He must’ve blacked out for a moment, because he’s lying on the table now, the conference table around which everyone else is sitting. Their eyes are on him, and so is Jamie’s hands, although her cock isn’t in him any more. He knows that, as soon as he’s back to himself, he’ll be so glad that it isn’t inside him any more, but right now, he misses it. He feels owned. He feels exhausted. He feels like the happiest man on earth, and perhaps that’s why everyone looks so horrified. Not because they think they just saw him raped, but because of the big grin on his face. Because he loved being made hers so badly; because he couldn’t be happier with the way she’s petting his hair even as she talks. Her words are just a drone, not anything that concerns him. He doesn’t even hear them.

Maybe he really is a moron, just like they all say, but at least he’s happy, now. At least he’s satisfied. He’s sure that’s more than can be said for the sad lot of people staring at him as though he was insane - which, come to think of it, he probably is, too. The thought makes him laugh, and, as he glances over his shoulder, he sees that Jamie’s smiling down towards him, too. He can almost hear her degrading voice in his head; _good boy_. There’s a final tug on his hair, affectionate but rough, and then she’s stepping away from him. He’ll see her at home later, but he still misses her touch. He hasn’t gotten to say thank you yet; he hasn’t truly gotten to show the others in the room how grateful he feels. When he goes to kneel, he realises that he can’t move.

Then there are hands on him, someone else’s hands, the people come to take him to the medics. He’ll probably need stitches, he thinks, grinning all the while. As they carry him out the door, he can see the come stains he left on the floor beneath the table. Jamie steps in them as she reclaims her seat, staining the red soles of her Louboutins with white.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd - all mistakes are mine.


End file.
